Don't Try to Wake Me
by Your-Nuclear-Holocaust
Summary: "His hands had shook then not from the pain he should have been feeling, but from an almost exuberant high that flickered in the most tantalizing of ways. It had left him breathless." Pre-Reboot/Post Crisis. High T.


**"Don't Feel Bad for me. I want you to know, deep in the cell of my heart, I will feel so glad to go." -_Asleep_ by Emily Browning**

cCc

It started off as a bad accident, but then again most of the things in his life started that way. He had slipped, or his hand had anyway. A needle that was meant to be stitching his flesh back together had been dragged acrossed his hip. It should have hurt. He should have winced when the pain flooded through his body starting from that one point of origin. But he hadn't. Ungodly blue eyes had stared as the sickly thick liquid slowly stained his pale skin, trailing in an almost fascinating way down his outer thigh. With shaking fingers he wiped the crimson goo away, only for it to drip to the floor. He should have been shaking from pain. He had been shot earlier that night. Stabbed and tossed around like his body was made of cloth. He _had _been in pain.

His hands had shook then not from the pain he should have been feeling, but from an almost exuberant high that flickered in the most tantalizing of ways. It had left him breathless.

The first time, when the high had left him feeling empty and numb, he had been frightened. The fifth time, when the high had left him feeling stupid and selfish, he was angry. The twelfth time, when the high had left him feeling alone and abandoned he had cried from sheer sorrow.

But this time…this was the twenty-ninth time, and this time the high was not going to be leaving him feeling much of anything.

Maybe it had been his thought process that evening that had brought it on. After another fruitless night of searching for anything he could grip onto he had been left to his own devices. He had been left with nothing more then what few belongings he had brought with him. Pictures. Faces that were smiling and laughing and touching. People that had loved him with all their hearts. People he would have given everything in his world for. People that he would never be able to hold ever again.

Maybe it was an eventuality. Out of all three boys, he had always been the one with the most problems. Or at least the one that didn't know how to handle them. He was a child, a boy that was not prepared for what had laid ahead, yet he dove blindly into waters blacker then night. He had always relied so much on the strength of others to move forward. But now he was alone, practically thrown away by an elder brother that he had needed _so badly_ to believe in him. Abandoned by a friend he thought he could lean on.

He lay on his back, watching the ceiling, praying for something to happen but not knowing what. His fingers and toes felt numb and his head was swimming in a fountain of self inflicted bliss. His arms felt damp on the stained bed sheets, but it seemed like a distant distraction. He knew better then this. He was smarter then this. Yet when his hand had traced those lines down his exposed flesh all the warning and danger signs had been easily forgotten.

Damian would be disappointed.

The thought almost made him smile. The new Robin had been a thorn in his side, and the thought of the boy's face when he found out almost made him reach for a compress. But that would defeat the purpose.

Dick would blame himself.

Good, sometimes he blamed him too. He blamed him for turning his back on him, thinking he was crazy. After everything they had been through, everything they had seen, the cold dismissal had been life crushing.

Cassie would have nothing left.

That wasn't entirely true. She had the Titans. She had Ravager. She would pull through. She was the bravest, sweetest, and strongest person he knew. She would pull through.

Bruce taught him better then this.

Tears burned at his eyes and he let them fall freely. Bruce. He was letting him down. He would never be able to help him, never be able to bring him home. A sob made his body shake and a hiccup slipped past his lips. Bruce. If the man could see him like this he would be ashamed of him. Ashamed of the fact that he was his son. Disgraced.

He would be able to see Kon and Bart.

He had never been one to believe in an afterlife of sorts, but when he had lost the two people he called his 'best friends' he had changed his mind. He couldn't sleep at night not knowing that they weren't somewhere better. So he got to believe in Heaven, if not for that sole purpose. If this happened, he would see them again. Kon's blue eyes and Bart's sparkling smile. If this happened, he would hear them again. Kon's booming voice and Bart's impish laugh.

A weak smile painted acrossed his pale lips.

Kon and Bart were waiting for him.

His blue eyes slipped shut.

Sure, they'd be a little mad at first, but they'd be so happy to see him again it wouldn't matter.

The twenty-ninth time, when the high left him cold, he smiled with unbridled happiness.

Kon and Bart were waiting for him.

* * *

><p>Ok, I know, why can't I ever write anything happy? I just had a horrible plot bunny and I couldn't ignore it.<p>

Being someone that used to partake in self harm I understand the feelings behind it, how it leaves you feeling worse then you did before, and how sometimes the only thing that makes any sense is to make it go away completely. Dark times, and Tim had so many of them, I just get the feeling that sometimes mistakes are made. I've also lost a few like that, so building off those experiences I may write something later for this to show how his friends and/or family react to his rash decision.

Anewho, please enjoy my little cry fest here, read, reviews, all that jazz. I'll just be going back to my little corner where I pretend that the Reboot is all just a bad dream.


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